Free Capitol Murder by Phillip Margolin Page A

he was tenacious in business and strong-willed if not strong of limb. Cooper earned a respectable living by fighting his way up the food chain, and very little scared him. Steve Reynolds was an exception.
    Reynolds appeared in his office shortly after Cooper’s secretary left. Cooper thought his secretary had locked the front door so he was surprised when he looked up and found Reynolds standing in his doorway. Cooper got over his initial surprise quickly, but he didn’t pull out the drawer where he kept a loaded .38 Special because his visitor was a neatly shaved white man with a styled haircut who was dressed in an Armani suit. Instead, he furrowed his brow, perplexed by the situation, and asked his visitor what he wanted.
    Reynolds sat on a plain wooden chair across from Cooper.
    “I want to make you some easy money,” he said with a warm smile.
    Cooper didn’t return the smile. Life had taught him that there was no such thing as easy money. Still, he was intrigued.
    “Talk to me,” he said as he eased open the drawer that held his protection.
    Reynolds raised an eyebrow. “There’ll be no need for the gun, Mr. Cooper. Besides, I emptied it last night.”
    Cooper looked as though he had not understood Reynolds or understood him but couldn’t get his head around the idea that he had been burglarized. Reynolds waited patiently while Cooper checked the gun. There were no bullets in the chamber. Cooper’s face darkened.
    “What the fuck is this?”
    Reynolds held up a conciliatory hand. “I apologize, but I don’t like getting shot, and I thought our conversation would go better if neither of us was armed.”
    “You know what?” Cooper said, “We’re not going to have a conversation. I don’t converse with assholes who break into my office.”
    Reynolds nodded. “I’m not surprised that you’re upset, but hear me out. I’m going to offer you ten thousand dollars in exchange for a favor and another ten once it’s performed.”
    The money caught Cooper’s interest. “What kind of favor?”
    “I want you to hire four men. You won’t have to pay them to earn the money. You’ll just have to tell your managers to use them.”
    Cooper smirked. “What will these gentlemen say when INS asks for their green cards?”
    “They’ll say they have them. You won’t get in trouble with the Immigration people.”
    “I don’t like this.”
    Reynolds sat up and leaned forward. “You don’t have to like it. You just have to do it.”
    “And if I don’t?” Cooper answered belligerently.
    “This is not a negotiation,” Reynolds said. “Either you do everything I ask of you and make some money or you refuse and your comfortable life will come to an end. And don’t even think about going to the police. That would be a huge mistake. Anytime you get set to contact the authorities, think about how easy it was for me to break into your house last night.”
    “My house?”
    “Check the dresser in your bedroom. Look under your winter pajamas. The envelope with the ten thousand dollars is folded inside the flannels with the tartan check.”

Chapter Twelve
    T ranscripts from Clarence Little’s trial for the murder of Winona Benford were piled up on the coffee table in Millie’s living room. An empty mug was perched on top of the transparent plastic cover that protected one of them. Scattered across the living room floor were more transcripts and the police, forensic, and defense investigation reports in the Winona Benford and Carol Poole cases.
    Millie put down the police report she had just finished and rubbed her eyes. Then she picked up the coffee mug and picked her way through the legal debris until she reached her kitchen. It was Monday morning, and Millie had risen with the sun to finish rereading all of the paperwork in the two murder cases, a task she had started on Saturday and was about to finish after two twelve-hour weekend days.
    In Clarence’s postconviction cases, the issue before Judge Case was